


This New Game

by etoiledunord



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Porn, Post The Great Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-01
Updated: 2010-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-25 23:33:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoiledunord/pseuds/etoiledunord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate ending to TGG, in which John and Sherlock jump right into the new game Moriarty has started before he can come back to change the rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This New Game

**Author's Note:**

> Written for toestastegood on Livejournal, because she inspired me with a post about asking permission. <3
> 
> Also, I am Canadian, not British, and this piece has not been beta'd or brit-picked.

When Sherlock finally snaps, it’s nothing like John imagined.

“Alright? _Are you alright_?”

Sherlock’s ripping the vest and coat off, but John hardly notices. The balance of oxygen and adrenaline in his blood is fluctuating wildly, and he can’t really focus.

“Yeah,” he manages to get out. The vest and coat are gone, then, and so is Sherlock, and John starts to wobble. Sherlock’s back soon, though, after throwing the explosives a few meters away. He grabs John by the shoulders and spins him around and, without warning or preamble, kisses him desperately.

Adrenaline wins out over oxygen, and John clings to Sherlock’s jacket, feeling lightheaded but responding on instinct. The kiss is messy, Sherlock’s tongue moving aggressively against John's as he uses his height to his advantage, bending over John so that he has to tilt his head back and his mouth opens farther. The centre of John’s chest is burning from the rush and the sensation.

“John,” Sherlock gasps, barely pausing long enough to speak the name. “John,” he says again. “I need you.” His fingers dig into John’s back below his shoulder blades.

All John can manage at first is a low “Mmm” against Sherlock’s mouth. He’s not objecting, not at all. They’ve both just nearly died, and in their freedom now is a dare, a challenge to do things their way and still try to win Moriarty’s game, and John needs Sherlock—needs _Sherlock_ —as much as Sherlock needs him.

It belatedly occurs to him that they might still be being watched, but John doesn’t mind. This is their first move in this new game, after all—Moriarty should see it.

John breaks the kiss when he absolutely needs to breathe. His hands have moved into Sherlock’s hair, and he leans his head against Sherlock’s collar bone, panting. Blood burns like fire through his veins.

“John?” Sherlock says, uncertain this time. His hand slide lower on John’s back, and they’re real, concrete, chasing away the phantom weight of explosives John can still feel.

He looks up into Sherlock’s face. “Christ,” he breathes. “This is insane.”

“You want to stop?” Sherlock asks, disappointment obvious in his voice. The question surprises John. He’s never heard Sherlock ask him something like that. Normally, Sherlock convinces John to agree to whatever experiment or adventure or felony he’s set on by simply persisting at the endeavour until John finally gives in. This new approach is anomalous.

“Stop?” John echoes. “God, no. Sherlock-”

But he’s interrupted by another kiss, just as sudden and frantic as the first. And if Sherlock can’t tell just how much John wants this by the way he’s matching him moan for moan, scrabbling hand for scrabbling hand, then he’s a bigger idiot than John would ever have guessed.

“I want you, John. I _need_ you,” Sherlock says again as he moves to kiss along John’s jaw. “Can I have you? Please, let me have you.”

John groans. “Yes,” he replies. “God, Sherlock, _yes_.”

Sherlock’s hands move to the front of John’s jeans, undoing the fly as quickly as he’d unfastened the vest of explosives. John does the same to Sherlock’s trousers, anxious to get at the skin underneath. Sherlock reaches his goal first, though, and when his cool hand closes around John’s cock, his own hands stop and he gasps.

John watches Sherlock as he strokes him, slowly, with a grip that’s just on the pleasurable side of too tight. Sherlock’s eyes are bright from the reflection of the light on the pool, and his lips are swollen and red. It’s not much different from how he looks when he’s concentrating on anything he finds interesting, but it may be the most erotic thing John’s ever seen.

“Ground,” he manages to say. He grabs onto Sherlock’s jacket lapels once more and pulls him quickly down onto the tiled floor so that John is on his back and Sherlock is on his knees, straddling his thighs and leaning over him. “Easier this way.”

“Indeed,” Sherlock replies roughly. He’s let go of John’s cock for the time being, and so he uses both of his hands to push under John’s shirt and cardigan, exploring the skin of his stomach. He then grabs the waist of John’s jeans and boxers and pulls them down to his knees, lifting himself up briefly do to so. He leans back down to kiss John again, and John can’t help bucking against Sherlock’s stomach a bit to get a bit more friction.

He needs more skin-to-skin contact, John decides. His hands return to their previous task of undoing Sherlock’s trousers, sneaking in between their bodies. There isn’t much left to do, and John bites at Sherlock’s lip as he pulls at his waistband, getting his attention and indicating that he should stop straddling John so that his trousers and boxers can be pushed out of the way. Sherlock obliges, straightening his legs and leaning against John’s chest, and John runs his palms along Sherlock’s hips and thighs as he slides the fabric down.

Their erections are pressing together between their stomachs now, and they stop moving for a moment, just looking at each other and breathing heavily. There are so many things that could be said at this moment, so many declarations and profanities and pleas, but John finds none of them as important as touching Sherlock, as showing him.

John rolls them a bit until they’re lying on their sides, facing each other. Sherlock looks at him curiously, and John traces the jut of his hipbone with a light touch. Sherlock shudders.

Carefully, John reaches between them and grasps their erections together. Sherlock’s eyes slide closed, and John leans in to kiss him again. He starts moving his hand and feels Sherlock gasp against his mouth.

“Oh, god, John,” he moans. Both of them are breathing shallowly, panting with their lips still touching in a sort of half-kiss. This won’t last long, John knows. It’s too intense, too raw. They’re alive and _nothing_ is in between them—not clothing, not semtex, not Moriarty. The heat of their bodies pressing together is all there’s room for them to notice.

Sherlock makes more desperate noises as the tension in his spine increases, and when he orgasms, his eyes squeeze shut and he grabs John’s shoulder in a tight grip that will leave marks. John follows quickly after with a loud groan, shaking on the tiled floor.

They lay still for a moment, catching their breath.

“Moriarty probably isn’t too happy with you now,” John jokes when he’s calmed down.

Sherlock gives a small smile. “We’re ruining his game. He’s no doubt furious.”

“Good,” John says.

“Very,” Sherlock replies, and he kisses John again. “Now let’s go home.”


End file.
